Love Letters and Hate Mail
by Drowning In Bishonen
Summary: Reid was quite happy with his quiet, uninvolved life until a mysterious woman with uncanny knowledge of his life and social handicaps finds the website that Garcia made for him and starts talking to him. 6th chappie up!
1. Chapter 1

**Love Letters and Hate Mail**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Criminal Minds, or any of its characters. If I did, I would not be wasting my time writing this fan-fiction. I would be out with Reid. Because I love him. I really do.

Author's Note: My name is Marlena. I have fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with Criminal Minds as a show, as well as (well, actually mostly) Dr. Spencer Reid. I couldn't find a good long story involving Reid and a nice, long, drawn out, complicated romance (those are my favorite kinds) so I wrote my own. I involved Garcia in this story as a sort of self-appointed guardian angel. She is my second favorite character and I thought that she deserved some limelight and romance of her own. I want to say right off that I will be putting very little if any emphasis on the criminal part of the show. I know that it is best part of the show and what not, but I simply won't do it for a few reasons. Among them, firstly I feel that I could not do them justice. I do not know enough about what they do to write about it accurately, and one of my many pet peeves is inaccuracy in writing. Secondly, my goal was to focus on the personal lives of everyone- especially Reid. So, I am very sorry, but if the crime is what you are looking for, you won't find it here. But onto brighter things. My updating schedule may be a little erratic but I do actually have a plot and a story outline and everything for all of my chapters for the first time ever (most of which was accomplished in health class because it is pointless and nauseatingly simple) so it wont be as bad as it normally is with me. Well, I think I will shut up now and let you read. Enjoy!

**Chapter one: Saying Goodbye to Garcia**

Dr. Spencer Reid was not having a good day. Morgan continues to torment him about his unique talents and quirks. He was just on a plane for the past six hours for no reason. Needless to say, Reid was very much ready to get into his little VW bug and drive home for the weekend.

"HEY! REID! You're not even gonna say goodbye to me?" Garcia yelled from her cramped, computer-laden office as he passed.

Reid walked into her office slowly, puzzled. He had never been required to bid her farewell before…

"Um…Goodbye?"

"Have a seat, darling," she said sweetly. As he did so, the chair held him sweetly, and rather tightly, in his place.

"Garcia, what are you doing?" Reid asked, struggling against his bindings.

"Just being your guardian angel, gorgeous," she replied. "So, Dr. Reid. A little birdie tells me that your social life leaves something to be desired. Not that it was really a secret…"

Reid glared over Garcia's shoulder. "A little birdie named Morgan, I'll bet," he muttered.

She chose to ignore him. "So I have decided to help you."

"You're not going to try to set me up with your cousin again, are you?"

"No, but I don't see what was wrong with her."

"What did you do, Garcia, and what makes you think that I need to be bound to the chair?"

"I made you your own website!" she said brightly, pulling it up among her plethora of screens.

"…Why?"

"That's the best way to meet people, you know, like you can go into super genius chat rooms or whatever it is that you do."

"Actually, I don't spend all that much time on my computer."

"You _will _look at it when you get home tonight," she said menacingly, "And if you don't," she tapped a monitor affectionately, "I shall know."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well, ok, then…umm…can I go?"

When Garcia finally released him, he sped home so as to avoid any further interruptions. When he arrived, he kicked off his shoes that no one liked, hung up the sweater that everyone jeered at, and began preparing his dinner.

With things bubbling and boiling on the stove and an obscure punk rock band playing in the background (punk rock was one of a few guilty pleasures that Reid possessed), Reid had a few minutes to have a seat and allow his tireless mind free reign. Here, no one would judge his looks or his style or his less-than-necessary fact-spouting that was borderline involuntary. Here, he was Spencer. Just Spencer. He glanced over at his computer and remembered Garcia's 'advice'.

He wasn't sure how exactly she would know whether or not he looked at this website, but he had learned by now not to doubt her skills (or her threats). He turned on his computer and typed in the web address she had given him. It read: Spencer sighed at the less-than-creative web address he had been given, but decided to give the page a once-over. He had to give Garcia her props: (though I doubt he would word it quite like that) it was beautifully done.

He abandoned his computer as the enticing aromas of impending dinner lured him into the kitchen of his small but tidy apartment. His roast beef was almost done, as were the carrots, corn, and the rolls. Evidently, cooking, too, was among Spencer's guilty pleasures. Suddenly, his computer began emitting a tinny, relentless dinging noise. The words **'You have 1 new message' **flashed in various colors on his screen. He clicked it and rose to return to his food when the noise ceased, then hesitated. What could it hurt to read it? He opened the message, which was from an 'HP4ME'.

'_Hello, Spencer,_' it read,

'_Or rather, hello, Dr. Reid. Whichever you prefer. I tend not to trust computers, so I think I will have you call me…Leilynn. Yes, I rather like that name. I stumbled across your site while doing some research, and I thought that talking to Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI, youngest member of the BAU, would be fun. I (like you, I think) am not a person of general acceptance. That is to say, I don't particularly mesh well with my peers. Not that I outright dislike them, but their incessant stream of snide (and sometimes just rather rude) comments drive me to the edge of insanity…_

_As I look over what I've written so far, I realize that you may think it odd that I am emailing you on a website that was created for you this morning, and talking to you as though we are old friend and telling you the misery of my life. If I were you, I would be extremely suspicious, and I don't blame you one bit if you are. _

_However, I will give you my personal opinion (though it is of little value or use to an FBI agent). It is easiest, I think, to tell a complete stranger your woes and worries, your triumphs and joys. They will not look upon you the next day with pity in their eyes, or a sneer in their smile. They don't mock your celebrating the tiniest of victories. Well, they very well might actually. You might. But if you were to do that, I would simply find someone else to talk to who's willing to listen. But you seem like a nice guy, so I don't think that I have to worry. _

_So, now you see why I seek friendship in distance. You don't have to answer right away, or even at all… I'm sure that you have more lives to save, more barriers to break, and more trails to blaze. _

_Have a lovely weekend._

_With admiration,_

_Leilynn _'

Spencer stared at the screen. Admiration? The only person who admired him was his little brother, and that was because he could shoot milk out of his nose (well, actually, it was only once, but it made an impression and an interesting nickname). This had to be a joke…right? From Morgan, probably. As he went to rescue his now slightly overcooked dinner, he pondered as to what he would do about this mysterious person. If he emailed back saying to leave him the hell alone, and it really is just a lonely girl looking for someone to talk to, he'd feel terrible. But if he replied with some of his own thoughts, and it ended up being Morgan or another of his antagonists, he'd never live it down.

He considered and pondered and weighed options all through his dinner and well into the night. Unsolved problems occurred only very rarely for Dr. Reid, and even rarer still was his ability to sleep soundly with their presence. He did eventually come up with a solution, however, after several restless hours. He would write back as though what all that the girl said was completely true, that she was who she said she was. On Monday, he would be careful to watch for snickering and surreptitious glances. Morgan surely wouldn't be able to resist taunting him. And Reid would smile calmly and let him know that he knew all along that it was him, and that he wrote all of that rubbish just to see what he would do. But, if Morgan said nothing, the girl could be a viable option for a companion.

He closed his eyes and laid his tired head down on his pillow. Running his fingers through his hair and turning off his bedside lamp, he had a final thought glide through his consciousness. 'It might be nice to have someone to talk to…like she said…someone to celebrate the tiniest of victories with…'and with this, he drifted peacefully to sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Spencer awoke uncharacteristically late. He had no alarm clock, but then, he never had a need of one. His cell phone was always ringing at all hours of the night, alerting him that he needed to be awake. Except, apparently, for today. It seemed that the crazies, too, were taking a vacation. It was about ten thirty on a beautiful Saturday morning when Spencer finally poked his tousled hair out from beneath his covers and talked himself into waking up. He strolled in a sleepy daze to his coffee machine, which, by the miracle that is modern technology, had coffee ready and waiting for him (though it was a bit cold by now). As he aroused from his heavy-eyed stupor, he remembered last night's dilemma, as well as its solution. When he had fully awakened, he sat down at his computer and began to carefully type his response.

'_Hello Leilynn,_' he typed,

'_I'm not entirely sure what to say to you, so I will start by answering questions that you had in your letter and go from there. First, you may call me either Spencer or Dr. Reid- I don't have a preference. Seeing as you already know my real name, giving you a pseudonym would be pointless…um…'_

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting eagerly for instruction, and it was quite a long time before any came.

'_Well, you were strangely (yet refreshingly) spot-on in your assumptions that I do not mesh well, as you put it, with my peers, though I'm not sure how you arrived at that conclusion. I do indeed find it suspicious that you talk to me as if you know me (though I find it even more so that you seem to know so very much about me), but perhaps not for the reason that you think. You see, my coworkers, one in particular, would find great pleasure in impersonating a lonely-'_

He stopped and hastily erased the last word. He couldn't be accusing her of loneliness_. '…in impersonating a girl with seemingly identical interests and social issues.'_

Much better.

'_However, if you are who you say you are (well, actually, I know for a fact that you aren't Leilynn, as you told me so yourself, but I think you understand what I mean)…Well…I would be glad to have someone to talk to, I think…As for the breaking of barriers and the blazing of trails, I'm not sure that what I do, personally, quite qualifies. I memorize profiles. I point the people who have better aim with a gun than I do to the killer. Nothing terribly barrier-breaking there. But think what you wish. _

_Also, do not belittle yourself. My being in the FBI in no way makes your opinions any less valuable. Remember that. You know, I don't think that anyone has ever bid me to 'have a lovely weekend'. I think that it's kind of cool.' _

He paused'Keep your cool, Spencer,'he chided himself. He was beginning to forget that there was an excellent chance that he was in fact typing to a coworker. Mistakes now could mean misery later. Spencer decided that it would be best to wrap up his letter quickly.

'_Though I have no lives to save at the moment, I do have a bit of work to do. _

_Ummm…Have a nice day,_

_-Dr. Spencer Reid' _

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief that the letter was written and sent and made a mental note to kill Garcia when he returned on Monday. He poured out his now freezing cold coffee and sat down to a good book that ended up resting next to him, closed and unread. He was amazed with himself and how quickly he jumped at the opportunity to talk to someone with some vague understanding of all that he went through, all his secrets, his fears, his social handicaps… He had never thought of himself as lonely, but as he considered his immediate response to the prospect of a non-judgmental friendship, he realized how starved for understanding he really was.

This thought disturbed him. He hated needing help, or even entertaining the notion that he did. As a child prodigy that constantly shot the grading curve to crap in a public Las Vegas high school, he had long ago developed a viciously sturdy block from his own emotional needs in life. He knew that he would never be popular, never be understood, and never get a date with Shannon O'Connor. These were simply things that he accepted. As he grew older and wiser, however, to the fact that barricades were not necessarily the answer, his mental blocks were springing leaks all over the place. The little voice in his head telling him what exactly it was that he wanted and needed was escalating in pitch and desperation. He was losing control. His armor was weakening and that scared the hell out of him.

"Yes," he said aloud to his sofa and unread book, "I am definitely going to have to kill Garcia on Monday."

OoOoOoOoOoO

Well, there it is- my newly edited chapter. Please read and review- you know you want to::puppy dog eyes:

Thanks,

-Marlena


	2. Chapter 2

**Love Letters and Hate Mail**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Criminal Minds, or any of its characters. If I did, I would not be wasting my time writing this fan-fiction. I would be out with Reid. Because I love him. I really do.

Author's Notes: I'm noticing that I am making Morgan, as well as the rest of the cast, much meaner than they actually are in the show. I just would like to get that out there. I realize that it is a fact and it was a conscious decision on my part. It is rather important later. As I am no longer allowed to do direct reviewer responses, I will just respond to what was said in them. In fact, here- I will just respond in order. You figure it out.

:Thanks, I rather like Garcia as a character too.

:(Well, actually, that was me and I don't have much to say to myself.)

:Thank you for the compliment and I already addressed the updating issue and possible lack thereof.

:I'm glad that you seem to think that I have Spencer in character. I wasn't sure. Thanks!

:Yeah, his letter took me a really long time to get it just right- I mean, I sorta had to consider that he wanted to talk to this girl, but save face if it was someone else… tricky business, tricky business…

:Yes, everyone else is pretty OOC, I agree, but like I said, it has a purpose. And thank you for saying it's amazing- it's talk like that that gets chapters updated faster!

:I'm glad to be of service- fanfics are always a useful tool to pass the time. Such as a particularly boring bit of health, for instance. And I'm looking forward to writing more!

:Yeah- I'm still working on the 'Get Morgan' bit… I will be asking for some help in that department in a few chapters' time…

:Yeah… I forgot about that… that was more personal thought and I forgot to take it out… but don't you see him driving a bug?

:Well, if you think about it, Garcia probably has all kinds of nifty little gadgets that no one knows about. Who's to say she doesn't have a binding chair? And, yeah, it was off to a rough start, I totally agree. I had no idea where the hell I was going with the beginning- all I had was the part with Leilynn and how to get there. I was pretty much winging it until that point. I am well aware that the Jane Austen comment was a compliment and I thank you, though I'm not sure if I deserve it. However, I'm not entirely sure what 'non-Mary-Sueish' means. I mean, it sounds good, but I'm not sure. Please clarify. Otherwise, thank you. I need at least one or two reviewers that tell me all that is good as well as all that needs work, or just plain sucks. As an aspiring writer, I need to know these things. Thank you.

:Yes, he is absolutely adorable, but I don't think that we should be discussing that. Then we might end up fighting over him, and that would be bad. (as a side note I have read some of your stories and I love them) Thanks! And though his wounded puppy dog look is priceless, his self-satisfied adorable happy Hahaha-i-got-it-right face is cuter. Did you watch 'Machismo', one of the latest Criminal Minds? You know how on the plane just to prove to Elle that he is indeed a genius in every language he was like 'Meh-hi-co' and she nodded and he was all happy looking with himself- THAT was cute…but listen to me yammering on…well, actually, you guys listen to me yammer quite a bit. Oh well. I'm going to shut up now.

:Well, some of the best stories are quite strange; I'm hoping that this is a sign. I'm glad that I have at least one hooked reader- if I didn't then I would be sad. And as we all know (or maybe we don't) sad writers make bad writers. At least they do when not writing sad things… THANKS!

:I'm so pleased that everyone seems to think that I captured Reid's character so well. I was a bit worried about that as I have a tendency to change the characters for my own purposes; I was trying very hard to avoid that here. Many thanks.

:sigh: You know, you really need to be nicer to my readers. I don't think that they will become bratty if I update. If I don't, then we may have a problem, but you know…

:Thanks mommy. But you know, you know my writing style. Including my thoughts is a part of that style. Grrr. (No worries you know I love ya!)

I would like to thank everyone so much for reviewing. You have no idea how happy that made me! When I saw all of the reviews when I checked, I'm pretty sure I almost started hyperventilating. That was exciting. It sounds lame having all of fifteen reviews, one of which was from me, but my other two stories amassed probably twenty reviews between them and they each had two chapters and were up for months. This one chapter was up for five bloody days and I have fifteen. WOO HOO! You guys seriously have no idea just how much you rock, you really don't.

**Chapter two: We're Just not Morning People.**

Monday came entirely too soon. He had spent all of Sunday doing nothing but reading a few books and working feverishly on a novel that he had no intention of showing anyone else. However, being Dr. Spencer Reid (perfectionist super genius extraordinaire), he worked on it as though it were to be the next Harry Potter. In short, he stayed up to a blasphemous hour finishing a chapter. It seemed that when Spencer finally got to bed all he did was blink and his phone rang loudly and unmercifully on the other side of the room. Damn it all. He would actually have to get up.

He rose unsteadily from his bed and grabbed his phone off of the dresser. Flipping it open, he collapsed onto the bed once more and mumbled something incoherently that might have been his name, a greeting, or a rather unpleasant stream of curse words. It was possible that _he_ didn't even know what was coming out of his mouth. But no matter. Hotch was unperturbed.

"Reid, you're needed- now. We've got a quadruple homicide in California. Can you be here in twenty minutes?"

Spencer muttered what were probably a few more obscenities and hung up the phone, which Hotch took as a yes.

Spencer threw his phone unkindly at a wall with already rather chipped paint, suggesting that he had done this once or twice before. He closed his eyes and sighed. He was Reid again. He threw on some clothes, grabbed his keys and miraculously unharmed phone, took a shot of coffee (which was still quite hot and burned his throat, causing him to curse some more at no one in particular), and ran out the door to his car. He hopped in and was very grateful that he had left all of his work things in the car the previous Friday. He sped off sleepily to work. He later considered all of the hazards that presented themselves when you drive with only one eye open and very little of your brain awake. But no matter, he survived. That poor bird though.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Reid arrived at work exactly twenty minutes after Hotch had hung up the phone. He always secretly wondered how Reid did that, but never asked. Hotch watched Reid walk rather unsteadily, but determinedly, to the break room. He returned moments later, coffee in hand, and sat down at his desk. He slammed his face dangerously close to the keyboard (he hit the stapler instead, but didn't seem to notice), and Hotch had to stifle a laugh. Anyone who didn't know Reid would think that he was plastered out of his wits right now. But they knew better. Reid dealt very poorly with sleep deprivation and he suspected that he had been working on the story that Garcia had found when she hacked into his computer. It was a rather amusing view on his life in the BAU and had an entire chapter on how annoying Morgan could be. Obviously, Garcia had decided against showing Morgan her findings.

"What's with the ponytail, Reid?" Morgan asked as he entered the room and stared at the short ponytail that Reid happened to be sporting at the time for some unknown reason.

Hotch intervened. "He's not awake yet. Give him about a minute and thirty seconds." About a minute and a half later, as if on cue, Reid raised his head.

"Am I really that predictable?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Yep."

"Oh."

"Reid?"

"Yeah?"

"You look like an idiot. I just thought that I should let you know."

"Thanks, Morgan."

"No problem."

"So what is it this morning, Morgan, that makes me look like an idiot?"

"Well, you have 'Staples' branded backwards onto your forehead and your hair is in a ponytail. What's up with that?"

"Well, he fell onto the stapler this morning," Hotch supplied helpfully.

"Yeah…and the ponytail?" they both looked expectantly at Reid, who sighed.

"I was writing last night and my hair was getting in my way, so I put it back. I guess I left it like that when I fell asleep."

"You were writing? What? Some article for the 'Know-it-alls' monthly? No, let me guess-"

"That's enough, Morgan." This time it was Gideon who spoke. He looked as though he was going to say something else, but thought better of it and walked away.

Morgan was still snickering under his breath as he walked toward his desk. His sneer reminded Reid of something… something that he needed to do… ah, yes. He needed to talk to Garcia and kill her. He strode (now in a much straighter line) to Garcia's office, who whirled around in her chair and smiled at him serenely.

"Garcia, I need to talk to you."

"And I to you, O fortunate favorite."

"Eh?"

"Well, I have excellent news."

"Being?"

"I don't have to kill you and infect all of your computer files with viruses."

"Well, I suppose that is good news."

"You got on your website!"

"I didn't think that I had a choice."

"You didn't."

"Well, I'm glad that we understand each other then."

"And I have some even better news."

Reid nodded impatiently.

"Your online lady friend is indeed a lady friend. I traced it- it's no one from here. I can't tell you who though. That would be immoral."

"Immoral. Right. But reading my mail and tracing some woman using FBI resources is totally ok."

"Yep."

Reid sighed. He would just have to accept whatever it was that she was saying and move on.

"Oh, and Reid?"

"Yeah?" he responded wearily.

"You know that you can trust me right? I mean- Can I help you gorgeous?" she interrupted herself, smiling widely at Morgan who was standing casually in the doorway.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked with a raised eyebrow in Reid's direction.

"No, he's only attempting to absorb some of my infinite technological wisdom," she said smoothly, giving Reid a meaningful glance that meant he was to leave as she closed the screen containing his website swiftly. He rose quickly and obligingly and ducked out of the office without another word. However, Garcia did find a small scrap of paper on her desk after Morgan left reading 'Thanks' in Reid's narrow, left-slanting hand. Smiling, she put it in her purse and wordlessly wished Reid luck with what was bound to be a trying day.

OoOoOoOoOo

Reid could not figure out why exactly Elle and JJ were staring at him so intently. They weren't bad stares, but rather the sort of appraising stare that one might give a friend who was trying on new shoes. It would have been rather comical had it been someone other than him, actually. They both had the exact same slightly frowning expression, furrowed brows, and tilted heads. It was making Reid rather uncomfortable.

"What?" he finally asked in exasperation.

"Jeez, what's his problem?" Elle asked in an undertone.

"What do you mean, what's my problem? You're both staring at me! It's freakin me out!"

"Come on, guys, he's not used to women staring at him. Give him a break," Morgan said with a small smile.

Reid narrowed his eyes at Morgan, but turned his head, saying nothing.

"What ARE you staring at, anyway?" Morgan asked, standing between them and imitating their postures perfectly.

"His hair." They answered in unison.

Reid rolled his eyes. "What do you people have against my hair anyway?" he asked as he tugged at the rubber band. Letting his hair fall gracefully, he looked to the small crowd that was still staring.

"There. Happy now?"

"I dunno," JJ said skeptically, still eyeing him, "I think I kinda liked it in a ponytail."

"Well, as wonderful as that is, we have a plane to catch." Gideon interrupted, "and I think that the ponytail didn't suit you very well. It takes away from the mad scientist thing that you had going."

Elle sighed and walked away. "What does he know?" she muttered, "The kid has potential."

"Who would have thunk it?" Morgan asked loudly.

"_Plane_, Morgan." Gideon said irritably. He wasn't much of a morning person, and they had just under five hours of flight time ahead of them. Goody.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Reid was the only one awake on the plane. Usually someone was awake. But, no, no one was… Reid caught sight of his laptop and to stop himself from smiling. He was…just checking his mail…nothing suspicious there…that's all he was doing…

He typed out the bizarre web address and, remembering the loud noise his computer had made before, turned off the volume. Checking the plane for awakening FBI agents and finding none, he pressed enter. He saw that he had two new messages and his heart leapt with joy. The first message was from someone with the username 'The Oracle of Quantico'. Opening it, Reid marveled at the many facets of Penelope Garcia. Initially, you would see her as loud and lacking in subtlety and finesse. When necessary, however, a different side of her could be seen; a side that was caring and had enough finesse to fuel the entire bomb squad (not to mention get Reid out of a potentially disastrous situation.)

'_Reid,_

_We never got to finish our lovely conversation today, and it seemed as though you never got to begin yours,'_

Reid nodded to himself. He had indeed entered her office with other intentions (i.e. killing Garcia)

'_I just wanted to let you know that you can trust me. As I'm sure you've already considered, I am indeed reading your letters.'_

Reid's eyes widened; he hadn't thought of that before. He glanced up at Morgan's peacefully sleeping face in a panic but continued reading.

'_No one else knows, or will know, about your site or your friend. Morgan is a very nice guy, but I figured he would give you some grief about the whole thing, so I opted to keep things to myself.'_

Reid breathed a barely audible sigh of relief.

'_Now, I will let you get to the letter that you are actually interested in. Have fun in California and don't forget to buy me a snow globe._

_Yours,_

_-The Oracle of Quantico.'_

Reid smiled to himself and opened the email from HP4ME.

'_Spencer,_

_I have decided to call you Spencer. It sounds much less impersonal. It never occurred to me that you might think that I was a coworker and I apologize. I'm glad that you are willing to talk to me, however, risk notwithstanding..._

_I am having a horrible day. My boss called me at some ungodly hour (it was dark outside- that was all that I needed to know at the time so I did not investigate further) and told me I needed to be in the office right away. I am not a morning person. Doing anything while not fully awake is rather dangerous for me. Driving there, I think I hit a dog or a squirrel or some weird looking toupee or something.'_

Reid grinned. This was beginning to sound alarmingly similar to his day.

'_But oh well. So then I get there, and I'm shoved onto a plane to god knows where. They won't tell me. Hell, they won't even look at me. So there I was, sitting on a plane full of conspiratorial coworkers, and I said to myself 'Self? I think you should see if Spencer wrote back.' And to my delight, you had. That was my day so far…_

_Well, because I am incredibly lazy but don't really want the letter to be over quite yet, I will just copy out your letter and respond to that, ok? Ok._

_**Hello Leilynn**_

_Hello Spencer._

_**I'm not entirely sure what to say to you, so I will start by answering questions that you had in your letter and go from there. **_

_Funny, that sounds exactly like what I'm doing._

_**First, you may call me either Spencer or Dr. Reid- I don't have a preference.**_

_Well, that's good because I was planning on calling you Spencer regardless._

_**Seeing as you already know my real name, giving you a pseudonym would be pointless…**_

_Very true. Not to mention we just discussed the whole name thing a second ago. Wow, you must be really nervous- I can't even hear you and you sound nervous._

…_**um…Well, you were strangely (yet refreshingly) spot-on in your assumptions that I do not mesh well, as you put it, with my peers, though I'm not sure how you arrived at that conclusion.**_

_Have you ever googled yourself? You would be amazed at how much weird stuff comes up on you._

_**I do indeed find it suspicious that you talk to me as if you know me**_

_I figured you would._

_**(though I find it even more so that you seem to know so very much about me),**_

_Like I said, try googling yourself sometime. You'll find stuff there that you probably didn't even know about yourself… like there's a blog about you in a website belonging to a woman whose name starts with an 'S'._

_**but perhaps not for the reason that you think. You see, my coworkers, one in particular, would find great pleasure in impersonating a girl with seemingly identical interests and social issues.**_

_Yeah, mine would too. Problem is, most of them are too stupid to so much as think of something that creative, let alone go through with it._

_**However, if you are who you say you are (well, actually, I know for a fact that you aren't Leilynn, as you told me so yourself, but I think you understand what I mean)…**_

_You don't know anything that I tell you 'for a fact'. Trusting what people say when you can't even see them is a bad habit to get into. But yes, I know what you mean._

_**Well…I would be glad to have someone to talk to, I think…As for the breaking of barriers and the blazing of trails, I'm not sure that what I do, personally, quite qualifies.**_

_Of course it does. You're 24 and have 3 PhDs. If that isn't trail blazing and barrier breaking I don't know what the hell is._

_**I memorize profiles. I point the people who have better aim with a gun than I do to the killer. Nothing terribly barrier-breaking there.**_

_Says you._

_**But think what you wish.**_

_I have every intention of doing so. _

_**Also, do not belittle yourself. My being in the FBI in no way makes your opinions any less valuable. Remember that.**_

_You're telling me not to belittle myself, when you just finished telling me that you're worthless?_

_**You know, I don't think that anyone has ever bid me to 'have a lovely weekend'. I think that it's kind of cool.**_

_Well, I'm glad to be of service. I believe that everyone should have someone to bid them a lovely weekend. My mother always liked to say such things to me. But that is unimportant. _

'_**Though I have no lives to save at the moment, I do have a bit of work to do. **_

_**Ummm…Have a nice day,**_

_**-Dr. Spencer Reid**_

_You liar. You don't have any work to do, except perhaps to work on your great American novel. You decided that you were enjoying yourself too much, so you cut yourself off. I'm no profiler, but I do know evasion tactics when I see them. _

_But no worries. I don't blame you for your caution. Well, my boss says that I need to get off of the plane. I hope that you are having a better day than I am, and that my boss isn't planning to use me as a sacrifice to the Staples god, or the Dell deity. They look guilty enough… That could end badly. Have a wonderful day, and wish me luck,_

_-Leilynn._ '

Reid once more found himself staring at his computer screen. This girl- or rather, this woman, seemed to always have something to say that amazed him. Very rarely was someone so blunt and direct- especially with him. It did not bother him, exactly, but it made him wonder… who was this girl? And how did she know exactly what to say?

Reid decided to wait to respond to this letter until he was once more in the privacy of his own home. He did, however, send a hurried reply to Garcia. He had to be sure…

_'Garcia,_

_I have something that I need to ask you. Please do not be offended, but there are some things about me that I simply cannot change; among them is suspicion. Promise me that you know for sure that this person is who she says she is… That it isn't… anyone that I know…_

_Thank you,_

_-Reid.'_

As an afterthought, Reid added two more things.

'_p.s. I do trust you, you know. It's other people that I have issues with…_

_As for the snow globe- we'll see. Things cost more in California.' _

He sighed as he sent the note. How did things get so complicated all of the sudden? He looked up and jumped as he saw Elle, searching his expression. It seemed as though she was trying to peer into the very depths of his soul in an attempt to discover what was very clearly troubling him.

She rather liked Reid. Not 'like that' mind you, but he was an amusing person to talk to, once you got over the initial shock of having a conversation with a walking encyclopedia. She thoroughly enjoyed the many, usually happy-go-lucky, facets of the anomaly that is Dr. Spencer Reid. She was not accustomed to this frowning, brooding Reid that sat before her, and it put her ill at ease.

"What's wrong?" she finally asked as he began to squirm under her concerned but relentless gaze.

"…Nothing…" he breathed, shaking his head and closing his laptop.

Elle sighed, having expected this answer. She chose not to press him.

"Alright… but cheer up a bit would you? I don't like to see you looking so serious… It's weird."

He smiled at her. "Sorry," he said, "You know me…not really a morning person."

It was a feeble excuse, they both knew, but at least he was looking cheerful again. When he frowned, he looked much more like Hotch than Elle would ever be comfortable with…

A half an hour later, everyone was once again sleeping peacefully. For no particular reason, Reid picked up his computer once more and looked at his site. He noticed that Garcia had already responded.

'_Reid,_

_I do not take offense at your caution. I swear on every computer and electronic device that I have ever owned or worked with that she is legit. And trust, me, you'll have more than enough money to buy me a snow globe. And considering the lip that you were giving me about it, you will probably have to throw in a keychain or a shot glass or something. _

_-The Oracle of Quantico.'_

Reid, smiling slightly, closed his laptop. There was something in Garcia's words that caused what felt like a large balloon to expand in his chest…

"She's legit…" he whispered to himself. And with this thought, he finally drifted off to sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoO

HEHEHE! Second chapter up! Woohoo! Now,I don't want you guys getting too spoiled or anything-I already had some of chapter 2 done whenI posted 1. I have nothing for 3, so it will take longer. Thanks again to all that reviewed! Please review again- it makes me a happy person.

-Marlena


	3. Chapter 3

**Love Letters and Hate Mail**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Criminal Minds, or any of its characters. If I did, I would not be wasting my time writing this fan-fiction. I would be out with Reid. Because I love him. I really do.

Author's Note: Once again you have all amazed me and put me into a state of near-hyperventilation. I am so incredibly excited that my story is being so widely enjoyed. Just as an interesting (or perhaps, not so interesting) tidbit of information, I was looking at some websites to investigate the basics of criminal profiling, and it is indeed just as fascinating in real life as they make it out to be in the show. That makes me happy. But enough stalling. Here are my review responses that aren't _really_ review responses so that I don't get into trouble and get my story removed.…

: I'm glad that he has someone to talk to as well. He needs it. Bad.

: You know, people keep saying strange but enticing. This is concerning me a bit. It sounds like you're talking about having to slow down to see a car accident—it's horrible, but most people can't help but watch, hypnotized. And I am well aware that the ponytail thing was weird, but I thought that there needed to be a bit of something… different in there. Just cause it sounded good.

: Well, I am glad that I asked. I had no idea what the hell you were talking about. I was not exactly aiming for non-Mary Sueish, but I was working quite hard at making sure that Leilynn didn't upstage anyone else. Also, I don't believe in a 'perfect' character. I think that every character needs to have some issues, some quirks, maybe some severe emotional problems in order to be valid and interesting. Obviously, I want my characters to be both of those things, so I make a conscious effort to make them so. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside that you trust me with messing with Morgan's character- a lot. It really does. I am glad that Garcia made you laugh- that is what she is there for and if she ever stops making you laugh, please let me know. Thanks!

: Thank you. Like I said before, I am so thrilled that my characterizations of Reid and Garcia have been so successful.

: Well, of course it's going to be a career! You think that I am going to be writing fanfictions all of my life! I think NOT! Someday, this site is going to have a whole section for my book, you know. Someday…

: Yeah, I thought it was interesting too. That's why I wrote it. Oh, and the 'mystery babe' as you call her will not be appearing fully for quite some time. And if she were real, she would kill you for calling her that. I have used her as a character in other stories I've written, so she is fairly well developed in my mind as a character. Of course, I suppose that it's just that I'm lazy like that. Dunno. Thanks for the review!

:Well, she _could_ be. But she's not. Sorry. I have other things planned for her. I'm sure you might find it in your heart to forgive me. Someday.

: Jealous? Of course I'm jealous! So you know what I did? The day after I saw it (I DVR-ed it, you know, so I didn't see it on Wednesday) I went out and started planning a fanfiction. And here we are. :wink:

: Nifty name. Thanks for the review- I live on this stuff, you know. I'm poor.

**Chapter 3: Email Withdrawals for Busy Bees **

Spencer returned home late Thursday evening. The quadruple homicide ended up being not a true quadruple homicide at all, but four individual murders by different people with a similar goal in mind. Spencer had no desire whatsoever to ever again be in an interview room full of murderous raving occult lunatics informing him that he was next on their list of sacrifices. The only up side to the trip was visiting Rodeo Drive and buying Garcia the most expensive snow globe that he could find. On a whim, he bought a small silver keychain as well. It had a replica of a star found on the Hollywood walk of stars and bore the words 'Oracle of Quantico' on one side and 'Penelope' on the other. He wrapped the two carefully when he got home and included a brief note.

_I expect this covers everything. Snow globe and key chain- as ordered. I hope that everything is to your liking._

_-SR._

Spencer slipped the small package into his bag, set it on the couch, and fixed himself some ramen. He could never understand the people who refused to eat ramen anywhere other than college. He ate it often when he was tired or too lazy to cook. Sighing, he sat down at his computer. He stared vacantly at his hands, thinking. He realized after a few minutes of vague, glassy-eyed thinking that he had probably spent more time on the internet for personal use in the past week than he had in the past year. His bills were going to go through the roof. Perfect. But, regardless, he reexamined Leilynn's email and began a response.

_Leilynn,_

_Er…sorry it's been a while. If I could tell you all of the insanity that I've been enduring the past week, I would. But, I can't you know, what with FBI confidentiality and all that… Suffice it to say that dealing with a cult of murderous raving lunatics is a bit stressful. You know, when I first read your letter, I was having a day that sounded alarmingly similar to yours. How did that turn out, by the way? I hope it wasn't too horrible. Being stuck several thousand feet in the air for six hours with a plane full of conspiratorial coworkers is no fun. Been there, done that._

_I have a question or two for you as well, Leilynn. What research were you doing, exactly, that led you to my site? And why did you Google me? Did you Google everyone here? Sorry, but your knowledge of me still concerns me a great deal. _

_Well, I have to go. I really do. Sleep is a rare gift in my line of work, and I must exploit it whilst the opportunity remains._

_Wishing you luck with your mutinous peers,_

_Dr. Spencer Reid._

Spencer sent it, shut down his computer, and climbed into bed. He slept relatively soundly, but had strange, vivid dreams all through the night.

In the first, he was at his gun recertification. Something in the back of his consciousness sighed and rolled its eyes. It was almost as though his conscious self was sitting back and watching his dream self (and his conscious self was not happy with his dream self's current situation.) To his delight, however, he passed with flying colors. Smiling broadly, Spencer removed his earmuffs and whirled around. Evidently, he was expecting someone to be there. And so there was. Hotch stood there looking as stoic as ever, but the well-trained eye could see great pride in his. There was also a woman who Spencer had never seen before, but he flashed a happy smile in her direction.

He turned and the setting changed smoothly from a shooting range to an airport terminal. His eyesight was blurred and he realized that an abundance of tears obscured his vision. He hugged his sister, Celene, and his brother, Milo. At the time, he was nineteen, Celene was eighteen, and Milo was thirteen; this was six years ago. Celene's and Spencer's faces were both red and tearstained. Milo's lips were pressed together very hard and his eyes were focused determinedly on the ceiling, but this did not prevent a few rogue tears from escaping the corners of his eyes. He remembered this day clearly. It was the day that he left his siblings in the care of his aunt so he could pursue his career as an FBI agent. He had felt horrible, but his sister had insisted that he 'put that humongous head to good use.' A healthy-looking but slightly graying woman of about fifty came forward and pulled Celene and Milo from his grasp. Spencer turned, swallowing hard, and gave the flight attendant his ticket. He turned to take a last look at his sister, who was crying silently, and his brother, who was still looking bitterly at the ceiling. His eyes burned with tears as he forced himself to pivot back around and walk onto the plane with a heavy heart. He sat down in his seat and stared into his orange juice. It swirled in its little plastic cup smoothly. Noise on the plane escalated with altitude…

The dream again slid seamlessly to new settings.

This was by far the strangest of all. There were no people. There was nothing, in fact, of any tangible substance. His mind was a kaleidoscope of colors, feelings, thoughts… Kernels of knowledge flew around his head; knowledge that seemed to be there as naturally as was breathing or walking. They were not exactly solidified words or thoughts, but more abstract concepts that floated just beneath the surface of his consciousness- enough to make their presence known, but not enough to know what they were or what information they contained. Spencer reached out in his mind, tried to grasp the elusive concepts. He reached farther…farther… His fingertips drew closer… he was almost there…

Spencer's phone rang obnoxiously on the other side of the room. He threw his covers off of him in a tantrum and grabbed his phone. Hurrying back to his warm bed, he flipped his phone open.

"I hate you" he growled into his pillow, making it sound more like 'eye-ayh-ouuhh'.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's true," Hotch's unwelcome voice rang out through the earpiece. "We need you ASAP."

Reid hung up and glared at his phone, like the fault belonged solely to it for waking him up from so fascinating a dream. Why did people insist on killing late at night, for people to find so early in the morning? Just once, Reid would have liked a serial killer to kill at about noon. That should ensure him at least a few more hours of sleep. But, alas, no such luck. Reid quickly dressed, drank enough coffee to tide him over until he got to the office, and hopped into his car.

Reid stumbled into work just like he did every day. He staggered into the office, dropped his bag near his desk, got his coffee, and slammed his head into his desk where he would stay until the caffeine kicked in. When he finally came to, he checked that there was no one around, grabbed a small parcel from his bag, and headed to Garcia's office.

He entered quietly without knocking. She was evidently playing a poker tournament of sorts and was completely enthralled in the game. He walked up behind her, leaned in next to her ear and whispered,

"Whatcha doing, Garcia?"

She jumped and turned around to face Reid. She smacked him hard in the back of the head.

"If you ever do that again," she said quietly, "I will post your novel on every website from here to Timbuktu."

"Actually, I doubt that there are many websites originating in Timbuktu, considering its financial situation.

"…Why are you here, Reid?"

"Oh right. I come bearing gifts!" Reid said proudly, brandishing the small package.

Garcia smiled and accepted the parcel he held. He grinned like a child giving its first gift; according to Garcia, it was one of the most adorable things that she had ever seen.

At that moment, Elle walked into Garcia's office and Reid's smile slid off like a pancake.

"Reid- plane. Garcia- you just lost the hand," she said and turned smartly on her heel and left.

"Damn. Well, duty calls, Reid," Garcia said sympathetically, setting the parcel on her desk.

"Right…well…bye, Garcia."

She waved and turned back around to rescue her poker reputation. When all was well once again, she checked that the team had left and grabbed the parcel from her desk. She loved presents. She untied the simple twine and brushed away the brown paper beneath it. She pulled the snow globe out of its sheer tissue paper and gasped. It was a miniaturized version of the Hollywood sign and its surrounding area. The tiny cars on the tiny roads moved when you shook the snow globe and golden glitter fell all around. This made sense, as actual snowing in LA was rare.

Her eyes were slightly damp as she put the globe in a place of honor on her cluttered desk. Setting the brown paper beside her, she heard the distinctive sound of metal hitting metal. Sifting through the paper, she found a small silver keychain. It had a star like the one on the Hollywood walk of stars. It had her name on one side and 'The Oracle of Quantico' on the other.

Now, Penelope Garcia is not an emotional sort of person, but when she considered the significant thought that went into the small gifts, she let a tear or two fall before wiping everything away. She was rather glad that Reid had not been present when she opened the gifts. She sniffed and exhaled heavily. Looking up at a monitor, she realized that she had just won five thousand dollars. Cool.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Reid's heart was not in it as they discussed the case they were given. He smiled at all the right times, and gave useless (and on the whole, unwelcome) information at all the wrong ones- as usual. He was not unsmiling or brooding, but more serene and sedate than he usually was by a long shot. The only person who noticed this subtle change was Elle, whose heart was not entirely devoted to the case either, and she wasn't sure why. She stood and walked over to Reid's usual spot in the back of the plane as discussion wound down.

"What's up, Reid?" she asked in an attempt at a conversational tone.

"Uhm…like two feet of aluminum?" he supplied, looking up at her with a not-quite-blank stare.

"Reid," she said, half-warning and half-exasperated.

"I'm fine, Elle."

"That worked last time, but right now I'm bored and will not be put off that easily," she said bluntly, sitting down in front of him with an air of finality and crossing her arms defiantly.

Reid sighed. He knew that Elle would not be easily deterred, and he recognized her stubborn posture and expression. He could not keep a small smile from gracing his lips at the memory. Elle tilted her head in confusion.

"What?"

"My sister used to look at me exactly like that when she was trying to get something out of me. She got pretty good at breaking me down, too. It's a little scary how much you look like her when you do that…"

"I didn't know that you had a sister…"

"Well, you know me- I'm just full of surprises." He attempted a grin.

"That you are," she agreed dryly, "Stop evading, Reid. Trying to hide something from someone who profiles people for a living is pointless and stupid."

"Perhaps. But don't forget that that threat works against you as well, Elle."

"Hmm?"

"I notice that there's something that you're not sharing with the class either, Elle."

"Such as?"

"New friends?" he asked suggestively, cocking an eyebrow.

Elle blushed delicately.

"Prove it…" she hissed, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. He furrowed his brow then broke into a wide smile.

"You mean you actually have a boyfriend? I was just bluffing, but considering your reaction, I would say that it is one hundred percent _true_." He grinned proudly. He had been trying to shut her up, but he had certainly struck gold- none of the other guys had anything on her.

"I hate you," she said bluntly, and rather more loudly than she had intended.

"I know. Get in line."

"Why do you hate Reid, Elle?" Hotch asked sleepily from his seat, perking up from the noise.

"Same as everyone else. She's jealous of my extensive knowledge in like…everything…" Reid said with a vague smile in Elle's direction.

_Odd_, Elle thought, _since when is Reid a good liar? He must be hanging out with Garcia again._

"Aren't we all?" Hotch asked and slipped comfortably back into his not-quite-sleeping stupor. Elle watched him carefully.

"I'll bet that at night he sleeps like a dolphin- with one eye and half his brain awake or something like that…" she said with a tilt of her head.

"Actually, that's not- um- er- never mind…"

"Yeah…" There was an uncomfortable pause. "So is it safe to assume that I should stop pressing you now?"

"Relatively."

"Ok…bye…" and she walked awkwardly back to her seat.

Reid watched her sit down and sift through papers uncomfortably, eyes darting everywhere. He found himself smiling serenely at the back of her chair. How odd it was that he had not thought much about his sister in so long, yet he dreamt about her and Milo last night, and now Elle was suddenly her spitting image…

No. She always had been. That was one of the reasons that he had immediately liked her. The other was that she treated him like an equal- right from the start. Not like an inexperienced child, not like a weird-looking encyclopedia, and not like some prodigy to be admired from afar. She treated him with dignity and respect. No one had ever done that before- except his sister.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

About three hours into the flight, Reid could resist temptation no longer. He surreptitiously picked up his laptop and looked around for any prying eyes. With all agents either asleep or lost entirely in the depths of their own complicated, multi-layered worlds, he deemed it safe to see how Leilynn replied. With speed reserved only for those with genius IQs, Reid typed in the web address and scrolled to where it would tell him that he had a new message. Suddenly, the screen stopped scrolling. When he looked, it was at the bottom of the page…what? How could this be? There were no flashing lights, no message informing him of new reading material. This was horrible. Reid squinted at the screen as though doing this would change the fact. He then accepted the truth. Almost sadly, he closed his laptop and set it next to him.

Dr. Reid had never experienced email withdrawals before. He did not like it, nor did he recognize it for what it was, but that did not dull the symptoms in the slightest. Luckily, the plane landed shortly thereafter. Reid welcomed the distraction and threw himself into the case.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Because of Reid's (and Elle's, for some unknown reason) sudden interest in the case, it was solved much more quickly than usual. Not that they didn't try their hardest for all of the cases they worked, mind you. They simply had more motivation this time; there is hardly a better fuel than various attempts at distracting yourself.

As Reid sat in his car a mere red light away from his home, something in his mind completely decompressed. He could not remember what had happened that day, he could not remember the case that he had been working- hell, he couldn't remember where he lived until the light turned green and he nearly missed the driveway. All of the sudden activity- then the sudden end of it- was more than he could handle. When he got to his building, it took him twenty minutes to find his apartment and another fifteen to find his keys and successfully unlock his door. His motor skills were completely shot as well, evidently. That should make things difficult.

Without further adieu, Spencer flopped onto his bed fully clothed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Spencer awoke the next morning with a monumental headache. He groaned and threw his pillow over his head, protecting his eyes from the cruel sun that streamed mercilessly through his wide-open window. He could not remember ever feeling this…this… this _bad. _After a good half an hour, he finally managed to talk himself into getting out of bed (only to collapse onto the couch for another twenty minutes). After guzzling amounts of coffee that the human body shouldn't be able to handle, a few vitamins, and a painkiller or four, Spencer sat staring at his computer from the kitchen. His sleepy, now slightly numb, brain was beginning to whir with alertness as the wheels of his mind began to turn. When all systems were go in Spencer's head, he rose and sat down at his desk. With an air of determined indifference for reasons best known to himself, he pulled up his site.

…

…

…

When he saw his new favorite words, **'You have 1 new message'**(his old favorites were _obsolescence_, _malevolent_, and _exponentially_), he let out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. He opened it with a happy heart; it was from Leilynn.

_Spencer,_

_Busy times for us both it seems. I also apologize for my delayed response- I have spent the last several days in some sort of training in some undisclosed location. It was tough, and certainly not enjoyable, but extremely educational. Nothing quite like dealing with murderous raving lunatics, but closer to it than you might imagine._

_You asked why I was researching you, correct? Yes, well, I'm not supposed to tell you, but I like you, so I will- but only if you promise not to tell anyone._

_Promise?_

_Well?_

_Do you?_

_All right. I didn't want to be the one to have to tell you, but I work for the government. They are watching you. I was assigned to learning your background. I am very sorry. _

_Just kidding._

_Out of curiosity, I was researching the BAU. You, of all people, know how the oddest things sound interesting to do when you're bored, I'm sure. You guys looked interesting, so I googled you guys individually. When I tried you, this site was one of the first to pop up. That's all there is to it- I promise. But on to more interesting things. I got a promotion! That's what the training was for. My boss gave us a sort of…obstacle course, I guess you could call it. The winner got to transfer to the department of their choice- within reason, of course. My boss seems to be under the impression that making everything a game makes the work less tedious and the atmosphere less tense. My boss isn't the brightest of men that I've met. But, regardless, I won. I think the promotion goes into effect sometime next month. It requires me to move across the country- how exciting! I can't wait to get out of this stupid little cubicle in this stupid little town in this stupid little state. And I'm fairly certain that none of those will be sorry to see the back of me, either. Not that I won't miss some things about this place. The shopping is rather good here and the tap water here is the cleanest I've seen anywhere. But that's about it. I've lived I this state my entire life- and half of the homes in it to boot. I'm sooo psyched to be leaving. The mutinous coworkers were totally worth it. Well, I've lots to do- packing and all you know. I'll fill you in on the other stuff as soon as I can. Later!_

_-Leilynn_

Spencer smiled lazily at Leilynn's happy words. A promotion…Cool… He went into his room to change into clean clothes but, seeing no real reason to, he simply closed his blinds and slept for a very long time.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Well, that's kinda it. I really like this chapter, but I was totally ignoring my original premise for it, so if it looks a little random, that's because it is. I couldn't think of a proper ending for the chapter so I just sorta _did_. End it, I mean. Comments welcome on how to fix it. **_Please_**. Oh, and if anyone has any plot ideas for the story, I would love to hear them. There are some places that are a bit fuzzy (like this chapter) and they would appreciate help. Also, I'm not going to promise anything, but _hopefully _there will be more (and better) communication between Spencer and Leilynn in the next chapter. In this one, it was originally going to be completely letters, but other things seemed more important. Hope you guys liked it. Criticism and reviews welcomed as always!

-Marlena


	4. Chapter 4

**Love Letters and Hate Mail**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Criminal Minds, or any of its characters. If I did, I would not be wasting my time writing this fan-fiction. I would be out with Reid. Because I love him. I really do.

Author's Note: OMG I AM SOOO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SOOOOOO LONG! Ok, moving on.

I love you. All of you. I seriously do. It's not even funny. The reviews for this chapter have been overwhelming. But that makes me happy. Does anyone remember when I was like 'Hey, guys, feel free to put in any ideas that you have'? What that really meant, just FYI, was 'please, please, pretty please, I need help, please help me with my plot!' I do have a plan and all, but that is more of a general plan, as I'm discovering. Like knowing that you live in one place and want to get to another, and even sorta knowing how to get there, but you don't really know what places you'll eat or sleep at. Right now, analogically speaking, I am tired and hungry. Please point out some good places to stop. PLEASE! Well, I would like to move on to my awesome reviews. YOU GUYS ROCK!

:Well, I'm glad that you're pro-random. I am too. As for when Elle said that Garcia had lost, that was just referring to the hand of poker that she was playing. Nothing terribly important. Of course, Garcia would probably beg to differ, seeing as she destroyed her carefully built online poker reputation, but I think you know what I mean. Thanks!

: I'm thrilled that you love it. I love it too.

: Yes, I rather like Leilynn as a character. As for her validity- well, yes, that is the question. But I will say this- after a while that may or may not be the only burning question of my readers…((dramatic music)) Oh, I do love a good cliffy.

: Yes. I think he would be awesome with a ponytail. But that's just me. Maybe. Dunno. And yes, Garcia is being quite intrusive, actually, but sometimes that's what it takes to get wheels to turn and things to get going. It's a- well, a friendly intrusion, if that makes sense. Like when friends read your diary because they think you're going to do something stupid. Like that. And ramen rules. I don't care what anyone else seems to think. As far as her promotion, don't be so sure. And tips? They don't even have to be terribly useful. Just…present…here…in attendance…ok? Thanks!

: I'm quite glad. I like it too.

: I absolutely will. I'm too far into it at this point. Besides, I think that there would be a few people who would kill me if I stopped. That would be bad.

: I'm glad that you're impressed. I enjoy impressing people. But don't worry too much about Spencer. Remember what I said about his intolerance for sleep deprivation? That's pretty much all it is. With a side of email withdrawals. Those suck. Thanks!

: Wow…just, wow. I am honored by that. I truly am. I adore writing, and those compliments really mean a lot to me. As far as your charming and highly flattering analogy (and I do love a good analogy) goes, well, I have done that. Almost to a T, that has happened, I think. Let's see…there were only three Starbucks, no hottie, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't raining. Much. And I know better than to leave my toothbrush unattended. If I were to do that, my cat would take that as a sign that it was ripe time to start brushing his teeth. He's done that before. Not pleasant in the morning, trust me. Thanks again! Oh, and Kiki darling, don't give me all that about toddlers and stuff, ok? We both know that you are an awesome writer. I simply happen to have a better grasp of grammar, and that is all. (and to be honest, that isn't even always true. You're just too busy actually writing to give a damn about if 'too' has one 'o' or two.)

:Why, thank you. I can't wait to write more, either. Thanks!

:Thanks. I will. I am too stubborn NOT to finish, so you all are in luck.

:Oh yeah? Well, I'm totally loving that you're loving this story! Stay tuned for fun plot twists and stuff! Thanks!

:Ah, jealousy is a fickle friend… Ok, no clue where that came from, I just wanted to use it… And I would like to point out that I said in the beginning that my update schedule is quite erratic. Especially now with me on my vacation and what not. And as a note to everyone, I would love it if other people could find and/or write nifty romance fanfictions and then let me know. ATTENTION ALL READERS! IF YOU HAVE A STORY INVOLVING REID/CRIMINAL MINDS/ CRIME SHOWS ETC- PLEASE LET ME KNOW! Ok, well now that that's over with… Thanks for reviewing and I am thrilled to be of service as far as improving your writing. Oh, and there is always next year when it comes to English… THANKS AGAIN!

:Lol I love that line too. It's my favorite, actually, in the entire thing so far. I thought that I was the only one that appreciated it, but oh well. I'm glad that I'm not. I'm glad that you like it!

:I'm pretty sure that we've had this conversation already. I'm working on it, alright?

:Thanks. Me neither.

:…Yeah…sorry about that….

---and then there were two reviews that reached me by alternative means, which I thought I should do separately so that they would know which are theirs.---

: Why thank you! I think it's kinda special too…

: I am terribly sorry once again about the two-ish-month lapse in updating- call it a series of events or whatever that kept me from writing—read below to find out more!

A/N: Well, that's everyone. I'm really, really sorry that this is so late, but I have been so bloody busy, it isn't even funny. Ok, so first I am ushered off to Honolulu to spend time with my dad (that was…interesting…). I got some sort of interesting allergic reaction from mango pollen. I can eat mangoes, but not mango pollen. Go figure. I was only there for like ten days or something, but I spent, oh, probably seven or eight of them in bed with a swollen face (NOT exciting- and sorry guys, I couldn't have been able to write funny in that condition. Trust me.). Then I came home. Then I went to a local university for a journalism conference/workshop thing A DAY AFTER I CAME HOME! Ahem. That was actually quite interesting, but they had us up at five and weren't going to sleep until eleven, twelve, even two in the morning! And that was another nine days… So I come home from there, and then the day after I come home I go and get my wisdom teeth removed. I was out of commission for a week. No fun. More swelling. More pain. More ice packs… ugh. So, needless to say, my summer has been interesting. Also needless to say, before all of this busyness began taking place (and yes, busyness is spelled right, for those who care- I looked it up.) I was taking finals and all sorts of other not fun end-of-year things… Rrrr… Well, finally, here's the fourth chapter, ready and waiting!

**Chapter four: Every Morning**

Funny, isn't it, how time is so easily manipulated, and in so many ways? How often have you caught yourself thinking something along the lines of 'if this meeting went any slower it would be going backwards'? Or perhaps 'what do you mean the park's already closed? We haven't even been here that long!'? Now consider how long each of these events were. There is an overwhelming chance that they are much closer than you would have predicted at the time.

Direct your thoughts now to when your busy schedule simply cannot accommodate dishes or dusting, but playing video games, reading, and any other flight of fancy always has a solid block of time in your schedule that is sacred, and is tampered with only on the most desperate of occasions. I am sure that we all can relate to these subtle manipulations. It is possible that some of you simply have never given it much thought. It is possible too, however, that you have noticed. That you have simply ignored it lest your conscience interfere with your reading time.

It was this path that Dr. Spencer Reid took when his new pen pal became a thoroughly cemented part of his daily life. There were small but definite changes in the normally cheerful but inscrutable doctor that even some of his less preoccupied coworkers could pick up on. He would come in to work looking slightly more disheveled and tired than usual. Caffeine took a bit longer to take effect. His aim when it came to the head-slamming portion of his daily routine had faltered. In fact, Elle had taken to putting his keyboard a safe distance away from his chair before leaving so as to avoid keyboard murder. Again.

Spencer was once again enjoying one of those rare weekends during which his expertise was not required. He spent much time reading, writing, and rereading emails and instant messages. Yes, he has finally discovered instant messaging.

Here is one such time:

HP4ME: Morning, Spencer.

BrainyFBIGuy: -mumbles incoherently-

HP4ME: Aww, I love you too!

BrainyFBIGuy: I left my sound on.

HP4ME: I was banking on that.

BrainyFBIGuy: I hate you.

HP4ME: yes, darling, I know. But that's ok, you're not the first and you won't be the last.

BrainyFBIGuy: So did you want anything in particular, or did you just ding to wake me up ridiculously early on one of my few days off?

HP4ME: As a matter of fact, I did have a specific purpose, but if you're going to be such a sourpuss, I'll just enjoy the benefit of having made you want to murder me in my sleep.

BrainyFBIGuy: _Leilynn…_

HP4ME: Oooh! You just _Leilynn_-ed me! It was in italics and everything! Oooh, I'm scared now. You gonna hunt me down? Should I change my address?

BrainyFBIGuy:…

BrainyFBIGuy:…

BrainyFBIGuy:…

BrainyFBIGuy:…Maybe…

HP4ME: Well, I suppose I'd better tell you why I'm IM-ing you before we have to resort to such desperate and violent measures.

BrainyFBIGuy: …ok…

HP4ME: I FINALLY BOUGHT A NEW APARTMENT! YAAAY!

BrainyFBIGuy: You don't buy apartments, Leilynn. That's kind of the point.

HP4ME: Buy, rent, inhabit, whatever.

BrainyFBIGuy: …yeah…

HP4ME: Ugh, you're such a guy. At least pretend to be happy for me now that I'm finally escaping from this small-minded, small-town-mentality-infected, hick hell. Please? All of the other people here don't seem to be terribly inclined to celebrate. Oddly enough, they seem to like it here. Go figure.

BrainyFBIGuy: Or perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it is four thirty in the morning on a Saturday?

HP4ME: Don't forget time differences, my friend. It's three thirty here.

BrainyFBIGuy: You're insane.

HP4ME: Aw, thanks. I think that you're kinda special too.

BrainyFBIGuy: So… You're up at three-thirty in the morning celebrating your escape from hick hell… with me?

HP4ME: Oh, did I forget to mention the bottle of champagne and the half a dozen strippers?

BrainyFBIGuy: I believe you left that part out, yes.

HP4ME: My apologies. There is also a bottle of champagne and a half a dozen strippers.

BrainyFBIGuy: Only one bottle?

HP4ME: It wasn't a cheap apartment.

BrainyFBIGuy: Right. Goodnight Leilynn.

HP4ME: Good morning Spencer.

BrainyFBIGuy has signed off.

HP4ME has signed off.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Reid gripped his steering wheel much harder than was necessary. Its squeaks of protest beneath his sweating palms went unheard as he muttered to himself.

"I'll kill him…It will be bad and slow and painful and NOT GOOD! I'LL DO IT WITH MY BARE FREAKING HANDS! THEN I WON'T EVEN NEED A BLOODY GUN!" he screamed in the general direction of his rearview mirror as passersby (or driversby, rather) looked on with mingled amusement and alarm. As the light turned green, he sped off into his complex and, in record time, was sitting at his computer typing out an angry letter, battering the keys with unwonted venom.

_Dear Leilynn,_

_There are a lot of things that I can do really well. Shooting is not one of them. Being an FBI agent, this is not a good thing. I get along alright most of the time, but not today. So there is this crazy guy waving a gun in my face (and, as it would happen, my face was not far from several other innocent, non-gun-carrying faces). I have mine out. Like it would do any good anyway. I chanced a shot at him, and it was about five inches over his left shoulder. Great. So then he shoots at me, and misses me by about as much. So I figured, hey, he's almost as bad a shot as me, maybe I have a chance. Well, you know what they say about almost. Almost doesn't cut it. He fired again and this time it went right into someone's knee. Not mine, but I think I almost rather it would have been. I could've saved at least a shred of my dignity. Well, shots fired automatically mean backup, so in comes mine- Morgan of course. I told you about him. Well, he comes in, and in two shots to the chest- bam! Crazy guy's down. Leaving me unwounded, holding a gun with only one shot fired, staring at where his gun was. Morgan of course goes directly over to the wounded person- a very pretty and, more than likely, very single blonde girl with long legs (he likes them) and sweeps her up into his arms dramatically and gives me this smug, patronizing look that made me want to kill him. Now, I would like to make clear that had this person been a man or an unattractive woman, the person would have stayed on the floor until paramedics arrived. He probably would have left them with me, saying that it was the least that I could do. This time, on the way back, when I asked him about the change in protocol, he told me that I had done enough damage to the poor girl. HOW RUDE! They know that I can't shoot worth a damn! But they stick me in there anyway! I'm terribly sorry, but I just don't think that that is a 'sink-or-swim' worthy sort of deal, do you? -deep breath- Ok, and now I am calm once more. Wow, I sound like a five year old when I get mad, don't I? Well, now I am exhausted and must sleep. AND I AM TURNING THE SOUND OFF!_

_-Dr. Spencer Reid _

It was very lucky, really, that Leilynn had come into his life. Coming home to nothing and no one, and not being able to properly vent frustrations is not only, well, frustrating, but neither is it healthy. Spencer was still an outcast- nothing could change that- but having someone to be an outcast with you is a marvelous thing.

OoOoOoO

The entity known to a certain doctor as 'Leilynn' smiled pityingly at the screen, just as she would have if she were face-to-face with the poor kid. She knew all too well about the stresses of smug co-workers. Womanizing, on top of everything else. Just what he needed… But seriously, he couldn't shoot? For an FBI agent that's-

"Just ridiculous…" she muttered to herself.

"What's ridiculous, honey?" asked a man from behind her, rubbing her shoulders. There was a gentleness in his voice that did not seem entirely genuine.

She immediately tensed at his touch.

"Nothing, hon," she told him, her strained smile trying to be reassuring. As he walked away, she let out a long, slow breath. She really couldn't wait to get out of this town. This was the one aspect of her life that Spencer did not know about. And she was beginning to think that even she could not hold out for much longer.

oOoOoOoO

It was two a.m. Leilynn was crouching on the floor of a small soundproof studio with a laptop perched on her knees. The studio had been an expensive and laborious project meant for the band of 'the man of the house', which broke up four days after its completion and had seen no use for its intended purpose. Instead, there was a grown woman sitting like a frightened child in the middle of the darkened room, hoping that a locked door and a note taped to it saying that she couldn't sleep with all the noise outside would be enough. Leilynn took a deep breath and began a response to Spencer which she deeply hoped would be helpful rather than hurtful to her situation. She could not afford a therapist, and her coworkers would not believe her if she told them, even had she wanted to. But containing this any longer was out of the question…

_Dear Spencer,_

_I'm very sorry. I've said it once, and I'll say it again- co-workers just suck. They just do. Trust me on this one._

As Leilynn gathered speed, she lost her nerve and her determination to share her burden. What did he care, anyway? Best not trouble him when he can't do anything about it. …Never really wanted to tell him anyway… Incomplete and contradictory thoughts floated on the surface of her mind as she continued. Perhaps it was not as out of the question as she had originally thought…

_Well, I am sitting in my basement and staring at the ceiling. That has pretty much been my whole day. Exciting, my life, isn't it? Well, my exciting life has thoroughly exhausted me, but I wanted to drop you a line sharing my condolences and wish to kill him for you. Hope life for you isn't too terrible for you right now._

_Love from _

_Leilynn. _

oOoOoOoOoOoO

Spencer was puzzled at the short, choppy letter the following morning. He knew that there was something that she wasn't saying- but he also knew that there was probably a good reason. Leilynn never did anything without a reason. He clung to this small, comforting thought as he drove crookedly to work.

oOoOoOoOoOoO

Garcia sat in her office and, from the comfort of her chair, looked upon her kingdom. It was funny, somehow, to be able to see all of the intertwining personalities from her very unique vantage point. Being holed up in her office most of the time, she rarely was involved in the drama that always comes from working with people. However, she was also still viewed as a teammate and friend, so they were somewhat themselves around her- well, that is to say, they aren't in ball-busting FBI mode. Each of them had taken her into their confidences at least once- even Hotch. Well, everyone but Gideon, who hardly knew that she existed unless he needed something. They all were under the impression that they were her sole clients, and she did nothing to reverse the notion: she rather enjoyed being the unofficial, top-secret FBI confidante.

Morgan was always having woman troubles, and Garcia was always calmly explaining that one of these days, if he kept up what he was doing, he would come to work missing a few rather important body parts.

Elle was just lonely, and liked having someone to talk to about nearly everything. Now that Garcia thought about it, the only things that they hadn't yet discussed were a few small countries in Europe and Africa, and decaffeinated coffee. Decaffeinated coffee was worth about four firewalls and seven password-protected databases as far as Garcia was concerned, and thus she refused to acknowledge its existence.

Hotch was always worried about his wife and daughter. When he came to her, asking what to get his wife for Christmas, the eagerness and hopefulness in his face melted her. It was such a contrast from the Hotch that she was used to, she was a bit taken aback. She could finally see what his wife saw in him.

"You should try that face on some of the females that you're trying to get information out of- they wouldn't be able to resist," she had told him.

"Isn't that what I'm doing to you?" he had replied. She said that it was, and gave him a few ideas for gifts, then some tips so that he could figure out gifts for himself in the future. She was a big subscriber to the 'Give a man a fish, he'll eat for a week, teach a man to fish, he'll eat for life,' theory.

And Reid- well, Reid was Reid. The poor guy had a romance going on online, and probably had no idea that that's what it was. But the woman kept him company when he was angry and had more than likely kept him from doing something stupid. She mentally patted herself on the back for putting up his site. She gently shook herself from her reverie and returned to scanning the maze of cubicles. She suddenly had a mental image of herself in 'Lion King' and having Mufasa that everything from the scanner to Gideon's office was hers. She retreated back to her desk trying desperately to swallow the giggles that were rising in her throat. Unfortunately, Garcia had a small figurine depicting that very scene sitting on a corner of her desk. She completely dissolved into hysterical, muffled giggles.

"What is so terribly funny that you don't notice a person standing four inches behind you for ten minutes?" asked a voice.

Garcia straightened, brushed away the stray wisps of hair, and turned around.

"L- lion…K-k-king!" she gasped, and dissolved again. Reid stared at her.

"What the- Garcia did you accidentally get a quintuple shot in your coffee again this morning?"

Garcia had finally stopped laughing, but it would be nearly impossible for her to explain her thought process to the likes of him, so she did not answer.

"Did you need anything?" she asked a little sharply, signaling that the episode was over and to be ignored. Reid suddenly found her linoleum extremely interesting.

"No…just wanted to…say hi, I guess…I'll just go…" he tripped over his words, his feet, and a table in his haste to leave.

Garcia sighed, but made no effort to stop him. It was like trying to coax a cat back into your arms after stepping on its tail: pointless for at least three hours. The first hour because it's scared, the next half hour because it's mad, and the last hour and a half to make you feel guilty so that you give it extra treats and love. Goodness, people are exhausting. This was why she worked alone. It was good to have these reminders.

oOoOoOoOoOoO

Reid gave Garcia's office a wide berth for the rest of the day. He wanted to know how women could do that- just be laughing their heads off one minute and be biting someone else's head off the next. And how did they get that tone in their voice that broadcast 'You are going to die if you are still there in five seconds'? He was quite sure that men couldn't even reach that frequency.

"Reid! Let's get going already!" Hotch barked. Well, not all men… Reid nodded in acknowledgement and shouldered his little brown satchel.

"Where are we going?" Reid asked in an offhand voice.

"Washington."

By the look on his face when he said it, Reid assumed that he didn't mean the state.

oOoOoOoOoO

A/N: HAHAHAHA! DONE WITH FOURTH CHAPPIE! Sorry it isn't quite as long as the last, but I figure better something than nothing, right? Sorry again that it took so long, but the circumstances were beyond my control. Please R&R!

-Marlena

Ps- I just realized that someone may think that Garcia has a thing for Hotch. She doesn't. Just thought that I should throw that out there. Maybe I shouldn't. But I'm doing it anyway.

-Marlena


	5. Chapter 5

**Love Letters and Hate Mail**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Criminal Minds, or any of its characters. If I did, I would not be wasting my time writing this fan-fiction. I would be out with Reid. Because I love him. I really do. (if any other brand names are mentioned that I have forgotten about, I probably don't own them either…)

Author's Note: Ok, so it took me forever. Here is my excuse: first, I had a plan. It was fantastic. I changed it six times because I decided that the first five versions would be too transparent. I would be utterly disappointed in myself if you guys wrote in telling me exactly what would happen next. I would have to cry myself to sleep. That would be bad. So ANYWAY I had some plot/timing/no time to write kinds of issues. Hopefully it won't be as long next time… Ok, now I'm going to start over.

Hello, all! Guess what?! I have a new obsession!! Fret not, because I promise I will see this one through to the end, but I have a brand spanking new obsession that occupies most of my time and unconscious thought!! It is Pirates of the Caribbean. And it's leading role. :::cough::: So you can expect a POTC fic on the horizon. It is a very far away, distant, depressingly plot-less horizon, as I have prior commitments (aka you guys), school coming up, and a social calendar fit to burst with exciting things such as orthodontist appointments and video editing all by me onesie, so… Ok, well I never really had an end for that sentence, so there it is, savvy? And so ends the part you are required to read. Here's the reviews!!

Review replies:

**::: Aww, thanks. I really enjoyed writing that part, and to be perfectly honest, I had a little help from my friends at hershey's chocolate on that one. They're great for inspiration for funny... Thanks for the review!**

::: You know, just because she was sort of seeing a new side of him and appreciating it, I wanted to get that across, but I didn't want people to read too much into that and take it differently. You never know, cause I've seen ReidxGideon pairings, so there's always some weird ones… Thanks for being sympathetic about my little rant there, cause it did suck. Thank you!

**::: I am glad that you like it. And as far as I'm concerned, Reid just kinda cut the little meeting that was held elsewhere. Cause he's a rebel like that.**

::: Cat analogies are my specialty- I have two, and I love them dearly. Thanks!

**::: Awww, you guys are just so damn sweet!! I hope that she does too, but I guess that's what we're going to find out, isn't it? Thanks!**

:::You know, I think that it would be in my best interests for me to keep going. You guys would murder me if I stopped, I think. And that would be bad. As for my topic choice, I don't really know why so few people write about Reid. He's the perfect character to write about! He's certainly charming in his own weird way, but his character is so under-developed on the show that I have plenty of room to expand and make it my own. Though I would like to write for things like CSI, it wouldn't be nearly as good because all of the characters are all so solidified and thus there are lines that need not be crossed so as to keep everyone in character. Well, I'm done with my little rant now I promise. Thanks!! (And yeah, he's the cutest)

**::: And why would I dash your hopes of accomplishment, oh back-with-a-vengeance one? Why do you have a vengeance? I hope that it was nothing that I did…. Thank you for your review, and hopefully you can't see completely through my plot. Cause if you did I would be sad.**

::: Give us a hint? GIVE US A HINT!?!?!?! ARE YOU MAD?!?!?! Uhm, I can't give you, or us, a hint due to the fact that it is rather crucial to that elusive little bugger we call plot. Otherwise, I would just tell you guys everything that happens in the whole story. But then it would be no fun to read would it? I'm afraid you'll need to be patient, love, just like everyone else. Oh, and by the way, three thirty is an **hour** before four thirty, not half an hour. Kinda like seven thirty nine would be an hour before eight thirty nine. Just thought I should point _that_ out. Not that I'm picky or anything…

**::: I am glad that you are loving this. I am loving this too. Thanks!!**

::: Don't worry about those poor, unfortunate souls who are far too narrow-minded to see the true beauty that is our favorite 24-year-old supergenius. They are not worth the energy. I am thrilled that you love my story. That seems to be the general consensus, and that makes me a very happy author. YAY!

**:::Well, I am glad that you really like this story, and if I may, I would like to address your minor complaint. You see, I completely agree that it was confusing and ambiguous. But those two words describe Leilynn to a 'T'. She is just always like that, you know? Ambiguous is how she rolls. Please keep the complaints coming, because I want my readers to be happy and/or be able to clear things up. **

**Chapter Five: Brains: the Sharpest of Double-Edged Swords**

Many, many people were jealous of Reid's brain. Many, many people still are. However, as with all extraordinary gifts, it is also a terrible burden. High school and college experiences aside, life is hard for him. Put aside all outer antagonists, and consider for a moment if no one else felt one way or the other about his intellect. Reid, with his orderly, methodical brain, drives most people insane, not least himself.

The curse of the intellectually gifted is that they overanalyze everything. They pick something until there is nothing left, even if there really was nothing there to pick in the first place. They do this because that is what they do and often, while in the lines of work in which they most often end up, that is what they are trained to do. For a person to simply drop this as they cross the threshold of their homes is not only highly unlikely, but extremely difficult.

Far too often is the very thing that puts this 'gifted' person into a relationship the thing that destroys it because they cannot turn it off…

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

No one knew why Hotch hated DC so very much. There were rumours, of course, but many were rather ridiculous. Morgan, for example, was convinced that Hotch tried to run for president, but was stopped by some higher authority, making him bitter. Elle thought that it reminded him of previous occupations for which he had little patience. She could not imagine him in a burger joint or as a coffee retriever, but he couldn't have _started_ in a suit and tie. Could he? Garcia figured it was a girl. He lived there for a while, didn't he? Only one thing was determined about Hotch. No one knew much of anything about him. Upon later reflection, Hotch would come to find that this was the very root of his problem.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Spencer was sitting in his living room. He looked with mild disregard at the enormous mess that now surrounded him. In a fit of cleanliness, he had decided to brave the only frightening place in his small home—Under His Bed…

He discovered many things which he never remembered possessing and which were now in various plastic bags that might just make it all the way out to the rubbish someday. Also, and perhaps most important, he found a box containing memorabilia from his childhood. There were literally several pounds worth of scraps of paper containing bits of short stories and poems and ideas which he had scribbled down. There was one poem in particular, which now sat limply in his hand, that had particular feeling attached to it. It was a poem he had written to Milo on the plane ride to Quantico. The poem, written on airline napkins, was stained with bitter tears.

I guess I may as well

Leave my lights on

Because now I've got

My own lead to bite on

You have nothing to do with it

And neither does love

Or respect, or caring

Or lack thereof

Please believe me

I'm not leaving you

So when you're done crying

Doing what people grieving do—

Call me, write me

I know it'll be hard

I'm not asking for forgiveness yet

But what about a card?

For Christmas, or for Easter,

Or Know-it-all's day?

Will you even still celebrate that

When I'm away?

You probably hate me,

Hell, I hate me too,

But please understand,

This is what I must do…

The poem struck him as odd. He didn't even remember what half of the stuff meant. Things written in the heat of the moment, he decided, rarely made sense. He sighed as he stood, letting the poem fall. He never really wrote that with the intention of sending it to Milo, not really, but he always felt something akin to guilt that he never did. Milo, after five years, had not yet spoken to him. There were only sporadic letters from Celene, which would invariably end with a 'don't-worry-he'll-come-around' type of comment.

In a comfortable kind of fog, he cleaned his living room. In what seemed like no time at all, it was spotless as always. He wandered aimlessly around his apartment for a while until his eyes finally landed on his computer. What a marvelous idea…

BrainyFBIGuy: Hello?

HP4ME: Hello. How is life treating you this fine evening?

BrainyFBIGuy: Well, apparently it's treating you far better.

HP4ME: Perhaps.

BrainyFBIGuy: What has you in such a good mood?

HP4ME: I move in less than a week! Woot woot!!

BrainyFBIGuy: Woot woot? You are so weird.

HP4ME: You're one to talk, oh owner of all 236 volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica edition 2006.

BrainyFBIGuy: So?

HP4ME: …

HP4ME: Is that seriously all you've got?

BrainyFBIGuy: I'm sorry, were you expecting some bitingly witty comeback?

HP4ME: Uhm…yeah. But never mind. Did you know that we are the only two people on the entire planet who use punctuation and capitals and stuff like that in IMs?

BrainyFBIGuy: I had no idea, but thank you for that enlightening piece of information.

HP4ME: Jeez, what's your problem today?

BrainyFBIGuy: Oh, nothing.

HP4ME: Oh give me a break. We both know that that's bull.

BrainyFBIGuy: It's nothing, really. I was just going through some old stuff.

HP4ME: Aww, I never pinned you as the sentimental type. Was it a box with stuff from an old girlfriend? New girlfriend? Boyfriend? You know, I wouldn't think any less of you…

BrainyFBIGuy: No, Leilynn. It was from when I lived with my siblings. I miss them is all.

HP4ME: AWW!!!

BrainyFBIGuy: Shut up Leilynn.

HP4ME: Well it's cute no matter what you say. It's not like they're dead.

BrainyFBIGuy: Maybe not, but my brother probably wishes I was dead.

HP4ME: A sweet guy like you? Never.

BrainyFBIGuy: He hasn't spoken to me in five years, now. His birthday is coming up too…

HP4ME: Well have you tried talking to him?

BrainyFBIGuy: Yeah, I send him birthday cards and presents every year. Christmas too…

HP4ME: That wasn't what I asked. Have you tried _talking_ to him. You know, calling him up and asking him how things are going. Or emailing him. I hear all the kids are doing it these days.

BrainyFBIGuy: I dunno…I guess I just kind of feel like…I dunno, like I don't deserve to talk to him. Like I don't really deserve his forgiveness.

HP4ME: Why not? What did you do?

BrainyFBIGuy: I left.

HP4ME: Why?

BrainyFBIGuy: Mom…got sick, and dad was never around. I needed to work. We get paid fairly well here, so it was enough to get my sister and me through college. My brother now, too. He's about to turn eighteen…

HP4ME: So he hasn't talked to you for five years because you left to put food in his mouth and clothes on his back?

BrainyFBIGuy: Well, it isn't that simple…

HP4ME: Oh yes it is. And that, sir, is stupid. He should be grateful.

BrainyFBIGuy: Don't call my brother stupid.

HP4ME: Can you think of any other appropriate names?

BrainyFBIGuy: _Young_. He's young. He didn't understand.

HP4ME: Ok, so he was… you said five years ago?...Ok, so he was thirteen and didn't understand. Well now guess what, buddy. He's nearly eighteen now. If he hasn't figured out yet that it was for him that you left, he's STUPID.

BrainyFBIGuy: Well…

HP4ME: Or maybe he's scared.

BrainyFBIGuy: Of?

HP4ME: You.

BrainyFBIGuy: Oh well thanks.

HP4ME: No problem.

BrainyFBIGuy: You really aren't the type to just say something like 'oh, I'm sorry that sucks' and drop it are you?

HP4ME: Gasp! I thought that you would know me better than that, Spencer. I am gravely disappointed.

BrainyFBIGuy: My apologies. But wait a minute, why am I the only one baring my soul?

HP4ME: And what do you suggest that I say?

BrainyFBIGuy: Dunno… What are you afraid of?

HP4ME: Uhm… I don't know… I don't care much for snakes. Or spiders.

BrainyFBIGuy: Well yeah but what are you afraid of? Like really afraid of?

HP4ME: I am afraid of people.

BrainyFBIGuy: You're…you're what? People?

HP4ME: Haven't we had this conversation already? People scare me. They are the most violent creatures on the planet. They are the only creatures who kill for pleasure—whether it be animals or other humans.

BrainyFBIGuy: Right. Remind me never to piss you off, ok?

HP4ME: That's something that I think you ought to have figured out a long time ago.

BrainyFBIGuy: Well, I'm just a guy. You can't expect too much out of me.

HP4ME: Ugh! You can't use the 'I'm just a guy' routine when you're a genius can you?

BrainyFBIGuy: Course I can.

HP4ME: You make me tired, sir. Very tired.

BrainyFBIGuy: I probably have to go anyway.

HP4ME: As you wish.

BrainyFBIGuy: Eh?

HP4ME: You never learn.

BrainyFBIGuy: Is this another pop culture quiz?

HP4ME: Yes.

BrainyFBIGuy: You suck…ok…uhm…Bride… something bride… Father of the Bride? No… Uhm…help…

HP4ME: Rob Reiner, Cary Elwes, Robin Wright…

BrainyFBIGuy: Nothing…

HP4ME: Mandy Patinkin

BrainyFBIGuy: Oh! Princess Bride!

HP4ME: Good job. Now who says it?

BrainyFBIGuy: Westley.

HP4ME: Bless him. He's gorgeous. Ok, one more.

BrainyFBIGuy: Whenever you say that, the question is evil…

HP4ME: Ok. Mandy Patinkin, Thomas Gibson, and Shemar Moore were all at one point on this 1990's television series.

BrainyFBIGuy: I hate you.

HP4ME: I'll tell you tomorrow, ok?

BrainyFBIGuy: No- I wanna know!

HP4ME has signed off.

BrainyFBIGuy: You suck.

BrainyFBIGuy has signed off.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Hotch wasted no time the following morning in informing the group that they would soon be adding to their ranks. When asked who, or when, or why, Hotch only shook his head irritably. They knew that look; silence fell. The instant he retreated back into his office for…well, whatever reason it was that Hotch ever did go into his office (paperwork, darts, backgammon, who knows?)…well, anyway, the instant he left, an indistinguishable kind of hiss broke out across the office as urgent, whispered discussions burst forth.

"Someone new…?"

"Who is it?"

"Did he tell you about this?"

"How long have they been planning this?"

"That didn't take long, Elle's only been gone a few days…"

"Why-?"

"Why-?"

"Why-?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Reid did not particularly care why. Or who, or when, or anything else about the newcomer for that matter. He wasn't entirely sure how much he liked being replaced as the 'baby' of the group, no matter how much he griped about it on the surface.

That evening, as Reid was driving home and slowly but surely melting back into Spencer, a pleasant numbness crept over his consciousness. He was not sure why, but there was a modest kind of contentment blossoming somewhere in his stomach that was quite unconnected to anything in particular that he was dealing with at the time. It was a bit like he had just swallowed hot chocolate that was at just the right temperature on a chilly night. Or perhaps a well-written score attached to stirring film.

Sometimes, home can have that effect on people.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Author's Note: Well, there it is. Can't say I'm terribly proud of it. It's just a bridge, really, to the coming chapters. That's when the real fun starts. I am taking advantage of Elle leaving, as you may have guessed. I don't really like the new person they have put in, so…well, let's just say that it is helpful to my plot. Now, I think that most of you are smart enough to put two and two together and determine that Leilynn will be in the office, so I will just out and say that she is going to be there. You are also smart enough to know, however, that I refuse to make it that easy. There is plenty of story left in this thing, you know. I give you enough obstacles to make it plenty difficult. I do, however, have a fair bit of chapter six complete—or at least formulated—so it should be out in a far more acceptable time frame than was this one. Again, my apologies on the lateness. So, Happy late Thanksgiving and (if I don't see you all before then) Merry/ Happy Christmas/ Hanukah/ Kwanzaa.

p.s. the trivia question Leilynn gave Spencer is open to everyone…first person with the right answer gets…er…something. Dunno. Just wanted to see who would get it. Bye!


	6. Chapter 6

**Love Letters and Hate Mail**

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Criminal Minds, or any of its characters. If I did, I would not be wasting my time writing this fan-fiction. I would be out with Reid. Because I love him. I really do. (if any other brand names are mentioned that I have forgotten about, I probably don't own them either…)

Author's Note: Firstly, congratulations to Phate3092, who correctly answered that Mandy Patinkin, Thomas Gibson, and Shemar Moore all appeared on the 1990's television show Chicago Hope and, incidentally, also are on this show called Criminal Minds. I hear it's pretty good. The show also has fantastic fanfiction writers. Also, in the future, I may try to reply via the little link on the page as opposed to here, as suggested. This does mean, however, that I cannot respond to anonymous reviews. So…uhm…sorry. Thanks to Bibilein for the idea. I am too lazy to respond to last chapter's reviews, so I am terribly sorry, but review this chapter and if you have an account I promise to reply. I have a habit of doing things the most absolutely difficult way first. And second. And third. Often into the double digits as well. ANYways… Oh yeah, and it was pointed out to me that Hotch's kid is a boy, and I am too lazy to change it at the moment. I may change it, or I may do something clever with the plot to make it relevant. Who knows? On another note, I know that some of you were kinda bugged by my cheesy tie between all the shows and whatnot, but I was really bored at the time and was myself amused by the fact that they all had worked together before on Chicago Hope. Boredom is my only defense. Sorry. Won't happen again. Unless it does. Oh, one more thing—there's a lovely little thing in there about the proper use of the word 'commandeer' which, I recognize, Reid rightfully won. She was messing with him. Please don't tell me 'OI! You there, who is irked by inaccuracy! He can use the word commandeer like that if he so chose!' I know. I only bring this up because that's the first thing that my mom brought up when she read it. Ok, you can read it now! Go on, read. You know you want to.

p.s. Time frame apology at the end. Enjoy!

**Chapter Six: Such a Feury the Bureau has never seen…**

Spencer's life settled—or, rather, continued to settle—into a comfortable, dependable rhythm. It was disturbed by the abrupt departure of Elle (not to mention the manner in which she left) but soon enough, that too faded into the background. He contentedly drifted through his rhythmic, cyclical life like a grain of sand drifts in the ebb and flow of the tide.

Everyday was essentially the same. Hotch would call very early in the morning and he would drive to work in a dangerous state of lethargy. He would arrive and learn about the case, fly out to the location for a few days, find Mr. and/or Ms. Crazy, and catch them. More often than not, weapons would be pulled, fired, emptied into the middle mass of another human—some deserving, some innocent. On the flight back to Virginia, he would lose spectacularly at chess to Gideon…

Rhythm was good. Lists, organization, control, rules, routine—these were the things that Spencer valued most in this world. After Hotch's news had some time to sink in, he was most unhappy about the possibility—nay, _inevitability_—of new blood in their small office.

The date that Hotch had set for this new person's arrival came with anticipation…

And the date that Hotch had set for this new person's arrival went without incident. Many wondered if Hotch was just testing them, seeing if they would react positively to new people. Or perhaps he had simply changed his mind. They were on a need-to-know basis, after all.

It never occurred to anyone that a person (a rookie no less) would dare not show up when Hotch had obviously already approved of them.

A day passed… a week, two weeks…nothing.

Then…

Someone was sitting in Reid's chair. A woman someone, as a matter of fact, and she had no business there. She sat in his chair like she belonged there and her bright cherry-coloured converse-clad feet were resting easily on the corner of his desk. She was chewing on the end of a green pen (Reid noted that it was in fact _his _green pen that she was so determinedly infusing with her DNA) and staring fixedly, unblinkingly, at a crossword puzzle book with a picture of Garfield on the cover. A muscle on the left side of her face twitched very slightly as they entered, but she showed no further signs that she could see or hear them.

Reid slammed his books and bag down on the desk loudly. When she failed to react, he demanded:

"Who are you?"

"Who wants to know?" she replied in a dull, bored sort of voice. She made no further motions and again failed to make eye contact. She removed the pen from between her teeth and marked something in the book.

"The person whose name is on the desk you commandeered."

She sighed at this and slowly, carefully, painstakingly marked her place in the puzzle book. She placed the book back in its drawer (it was at this point that he realized that the book, too, belonged to him) and looked up at him at last.

"First of all," she said in a casual voice, taking off her narrow, rectangular glasses and cleaning them on the hem of her shirt, "People do not commandeer desks. People commandeer ships. Perhaps 'took possession of' would be a more accurate term. Second, possession is nine tenths of the law. I have, as you said, however inaccurately, procured for myself the possession of your desk. I suppose you will have to discuss the matter with facilities. And third," here she rose slowly and gracefully, extending her hand and inclining her head ever so slightly, "I am agent Feury. Sam Feury. Pleasure to meet you," she glanced at his name plate, "Mr. Reid."

"Doctor," he corrected her through gritted teeth. When he did not extend his own hand, she withdrew hers easily as though he had welcomed her warmly, as etiquette would dictate.

"Feury," said a loud, stern voice at the top of the stairs. It was Hotch.

"Your emotion of choice, Hotchner," she said cheerfully.

"Too true."

They smiled at each other like they were old friends sharing an inside joke. Clearly, they in fact were old friends sharing an inside joke. Go figure.

"You always did like to make an entrance, Feury." Hotch said with a mock-reproachful tone.

Reid gaped and stared. She was the last kind of person who he would expect to be in the good graces of Hotch.

She had red hair and bright, resolutely emerald eyes. Both ears had gold hoops from the cartilage to just above the earlobes; skull and crossbones hung from her ears as well. Reid was not sure what precisely it was, but he was certain that there was ink of the permanent variety on her neck and back. Her clothing was hardly bureau policy. She wore brown cargo shorts that hit her somewhere just at the knees. Beneath these were black fishnet leggings that extended five or six inches past the hem of her shorts, leaving a small patch of skin between the leggings and the top of her scarlet converse. She wore an FBI t-shirt over a long-sleeved red top and fingerless gloves made of the same material as her leggings.

"Yeah," she was saying, "well, Julliard wouldn't take me, so the obvious second choice was the FBI. But I have to get out all that pent-up energy somehow."

Hotch noticed Reid's rather sour expression and looked back at Feury.

"Wow. You didn't call him 'doctor,' you took his chair, and you finished his crossword puzzle book. You _are_ in trouble."

"I didn't completely finish it…"

"Just beware of flying physics magic. He's getting some good distance."

If Feury was confused by this rather cryptic message, she hid it well.

"Dually noted, sir."

"Good. Go get a desk."

"Ok."

"And Feury?"

"Yeah _boss_?"

"I never want to see you dressed like that in here again."

Here the team breathed a collective sigh of relief; he was still Hotch…ish…

"Yeah, I figured as much. It was mostly a joke, but I'll admit that if you didn't say anything I would have kept wearing these…they're actually quite comfy."

"Never again."

"Yes sir."

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Perhaps, in some other situation, with a better first impression, Reid may have eventually grown to like her a little. Or at least tolerate her. But after a few seconds of long, hard thinking, he determined that this would never happen. The woman—Feury (and what kind of a name is Feury anyway?)—was doomed to be quietly despised by a super genius for all of eternity….

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Reid kept shooting her furtive glances throughout the remainder of the day, which luckily was a relatively short time. Her desk was positioned strategically (in his mind) so that he had little choice but to look at her every time he looked up from his paperwork. He soon stopped looking up. His mind was in a furiously tumultuous kind of whirl. An advantage (that was, perhaps, not so advantageous in hindsight) of an IQ of 187 is that one can simultaneously—and instantaneously-- come up with approximately thirty eight reasons for the immediate dismissal of any given employee. Reid's thought process, though impossible to accurately document, looked something like this:

_Are you kidding? Those clothes are not permissible in a place of business, even ones that don't work for the government-_

_And anyway, she was insubordinate to a superior. I couldn't get away with something like that. It was probably because she's a woman-_

_She was sitting at my desk, and picked the lock of my desk! I have items of a sensitive nature in there! Hey, that sounds like-_

_But she was sitting at my desk! Breaking in was the destruction of the property of the federal government, a breach of security, and she finished my crossword! So rude-_

_Not to mention she was extremely late. She was due to report weeks ago-_

_Actually it was only two weeks-_

_But still! You don't do that-_

_And she put her feet on my desk, so I'm probably going to have to clean it again-_

_Talking to me like that, who does she think she is?? Honestly, I may be young, but she is the rookie here, now, not me- _

_I hate her-_

_I hate her-_

_I HATE HER!_

It appears that he nursed something of a deep, abiding dislike for the woman.

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Spencer, a dangerous driver at best, only just made it home. It is said that it is perilous to drive while angry. He discovered that it is far more so to drive while furious beyond all reasonable thought or judgment. He ran over three curbs on his way home, and may or may not have annihilated a mailbox.

Spencer did the only thing that he really could do. He made meatloaf and mashed potatoes, listened to unhealthily loud angry punk rock music, and made hot chocolate that was more powder than water, making it vaguely the consistency of quicksand. And one more thing…

He emailed Leilynn.

Spencer's keyboard, now well used to the daily onslaught of discontent, was extremely well-worn now. Though relatively new and not yet obsolete, the keys for 'L', 'K', and 'C' began to stick and the letters were fading. Listening to himself type was almost as therapeutic for Spencer as the actual letter he was writing. The cadence, always a happy thing, was soothing. The tapping and occasional picking up and slamming of the keyboard to unstick the keys soon developed its own unique rhythm. Spencer learned quickly how to pick up and slam the keyboard without stopping, so he typed and unstuck at an almost comical rate.

_Leilynn,_

_I wish I could tell you that I had the day from hell. I didn't. I had the day that hell thought about, decided was too bothersome, and gave back. These people! I really don't like people. Too bad being a hermit doesn't pay well. It's something that I have been considering. See, there's this woman… She's new. And she's completely insane…_

And so he went on. For nearly three-quarters of an hour, he typed. He told her the long, horrific tale in all its morbid glory. He laughed, he cried (there was something in his eye), he ate hot chocolate (it had by now solidified into a kind of cake)… The planets in Spencer's universe were realigning. Almost. No matter how he felt in the here and the now, he still had to go to work tomorrow, and deal with…_her…_

That night, he had some of the most bizarre dreams he had ever experienced.

He was building a wall. A brick wall. He stood on a rope ladder that extended forever below him. Someone was standing on top of it, yelling down to him.

"You used to do this so well!" said Hotch's voice. His torso was silhouetted against bright sunlight, which bored painfully into his eyes. He was suddenly plunged into an immense darkness that consumed him. Through the darkness, he heard an unkind, laughing voice.

"Mr. Reid," it echoed.

"She does this much better," said Hotch.

"How do you know?" Reid asked the voice angrily, trying to keep the childish accusatory notes out of his voice, "You've never seen her work!"

His ladder began moving beneath him; it turned into hissing, poisonous snakes. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted with distaste how uncreative his subconscious was. Something hard hit him in the head. It was his cell phone. It lit up the darkness and rang loudly at him. He was falling, falling, falling—

His eyes flew open, his heart pounding. The room was filled with a loud ringing. Reid opened it, yelled into the receiver, and closed it.

This was going to be a very, very long day. Again.

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Someone was sitting in Reid's chair. Again. Another woman someone, as a matter of fact, and she still had no business there. She sat in his chair like she belonged there and her black-and-white Vans-clad feet were resting easily on the corner of his desk. She was chewing on the end of a black pen (Reid noted that it was in fact his black pen that she was so determinedly infusing with her DNA) and staring fixedly, unblinkingly, at a sudoku puzzle book with a picture of…well, of a sudoku puzzle on the cover. There are no Garfield sudoku books, you see. It's their loss, really, but they nonetheless do not exist.

'_What is it about my desk that makes people want to sit at it despite the fact that it does not belong to them?_' Reid thought furiously, marching over to his desk with the air of one more than ready for a fight.

However, mid-march, he felt himself slide sideways, hard and very much against his will, into an office. He looked around and was not remotely surprised to find himself in a room filled with computer screens. He sighed and sank into a chair.

"How may I help you, Garcia?" Reid asked with a valiant effort at pleasantry.

"Be nice to her, Reid." Garcia said simply. It was more of an order than anything else.

"Why should I? She's in my chair!"

"I know her. I respect her. As such, you do as well. You may go."

"Gee, thanks," Reid muttered on his way out the door.

Nonetheless…

"Excuse me, but you're sitting at my desk." Reid said as politely as he could muster.

"Terribly sorry," she said distractedly, standing and stepping aside, but not taking her eyes off of the book. He sat down cautiously, watching her as though she might suddenly spontaneously combust and set his sudoku book on fire before he finished the last nine puzzles…Well, eight, now, he supposed.

"Ah," said a brisk, businesslike voice that he knew to belong to a certain Aaron Hotcher, "I see you've met our second addition to the team. Reid, this is Special Agent Robyn O'Brien. O'Brien, this is Dr. Spencer Reid."

She extended her hand, which he shook warily.

"Rob," she corrected.

"…Hi." Reid said awkwardly. She was pretty. Or rather, she was probably pretty, if she let her hair out of its bun and was wearing something other than the suit which had a tendency to make even the most stunning woman look intimidating and unapproachable. Morgan, who could smell such potential from a mile away, was there the instant Hotch left for his office.

"You don't look like an O'Brien," he said, casually leaning against the partition. As annoyed as Reid was, he had to admit that this was true. O'Brien, an Irish name, did not seem to fit well with her dark complexion, hair, and eyes, all of which were varying shades of brown.

"That's an interesting line," she said just as casually, but with a hint of annoyance as she began distributing things into her new desk. Morgan, veteran that he was, stumbled only momentarily.

"Perhaps, but it's a valid question. I'm sure Reid will back me up here."

Such was his curiosity, Reid did not protest.

"Well, O'Brien is an Irish name, meaning son—or in this case daughter—of Brien. You do not look Irish." Reid rattled off, as was his way.

"And you do not look old enough to drive, let alone be in the FBI. People are full of surprises," she turned to a snickering Morgan, "And you. I will make a little bet with you. If you guess what I am, I'll go on one date with you. That's what you want isn't it?"

"Well--"

"Take it or leave it."

"Done," Morgan agreed, extending his hand, which she apparently did not see in all her paper-shuffling. He suddenly felt inexplicably brave.

"That was easy," he said with a smile. She returned the smile, but it was considerably less warm than his.

"You will find that I am not easy at all, Agent Morgan."

"I didn't mean—"

"I am sixteen different races. You have to guess them all correctly the first time to get the date. Guess the percentages correctly and you get a second date. Maybe."

"Sixteen diff—"

"That will be all, thank you for your warm welcome," she said, breaking out into the first genuine smile Reid had seen her wear. He suspected that Morgan was off to coerce Garcia into giving him the genealogical scoop on this Rob O'Brien.

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"But Sweetie--"

"Don't you but sweetie me, mister! If she said that you have to guess, I'm not helping you cheat!!"

Garcia smiled sweetly at him and turned around to face her computers. She heard Morgan sigh with comedic exasperation and leave, closing the door behind him. At this sound, she placed her head in her hands and screamed inside of her head. She couldn't cry. Not here. She wore too much makeup— everyone would know and ask her what was wrong in that tone that always made her cry more. Why did she wear so much makeup? Well, that was easy. For him. But _why_? When she knew it was one-way? That was easy, too. She just wished it would go away.

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Reid couldn't wait to tell Leilynn—not one new addition, but two? This was just too good to leave til morning. He knew that when the sun rose, he would regret it, but he simply couldn't resist telling her all about Morgan's utter failure. For surely he couldn't succeed, not this time. Not with sixteen races to get right the first time out…right?

So thrilled was he at the happy prospect of Morgan finally letting one get away, he failed to notice that it was nearly two-thirty in the morning by the time he was done reenacting the scene in loving detail. He quickly sent and closed his computer, making sure to turn the volume off, and went directly to bed without even changing his clothes. He rolled over with a slight grin on his face. It wasn't so bad of a day after all.

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A/N: OMG I am sooooo sorry this took so long. You try teaching YOURSELF two AP classes. Neither of my teachers were any good, you see. One was a very nice man who was simply new and unsure how to teach an AP class. That will come with time and I forgive him. The other was simply an ass who decided that as we were AP students, we all knew everything and there was no need for him to teach us anything. Rawr. I have been fighting with that. I know, I know, there's no excuse, but please still love me. Please forgive me. I will try to do better, I promise. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW AND MAKE ME FEEL BETTER ABOUT MY MISERABLE SELF!!! YOU GUYS KEEP ME ALIVE!!!

p.s. Obviously, one of these women is Leilynn. I would love to know which one you think it is. Please include this, and I will post a tally next chappie!

Thanks!

p.p.s. Rather large mistake, I accidentally put them both down as Sam at first. That is how tired I have been lately. O'Brien's first name is supposed to be Rob. I think I fixed it. If I missed any, let me know please. Thanks!


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